


Poisoned With Love

by shelleyjelley



Category: One Direction
Genre: M/M, Self-Harm, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 08:44:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shelleyjelley/pseuds/shelleyjelley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wasn’t giving up. It wasn’t that he wanted to die, not now, not yet, it wasn’t the right time. He just didn’t care. He was giving in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poisoned With Love

**Author's Note:**

> It might not be very hard to figure out, but one can never be certain so I'll just make one thing clear;  
> \- It's Liam.  
> Title is Poisoned With Love - Neon Hitch  
> Soo, enjoy and please read end notes :)

His view blurred as tears welled in his eyes, drops threatening to fall from where they hung in curved eyelashes. There was a slight throb in his left forearm that cleared his mind lightly, allowing his head to fall down slight enough to watch the flow of liquid run down his skin to pool in his palm. He felt so numb. Even though he was oh so very aware that the wounds he himself had created should be seen to, he couldn’t bring himself to function enough to do it. He wasn’t giving up. It wasn’t that he wanted to die, not now, not yet, it wasn’t the right time. He just didn’t care. He was giving in.   
Even as his ears registered an almost careful knock on the door beside him he couldn’t bring himself to do other than loll his head back to lean against the wall. The tiny impact caused his head to spin again, his view blurring even though the tears that had before clung to his eyelashes as if they were falling to their death had now indeed fallen.  
Another knock, this time louder. But also, a voice. He couldn’t focus enough to hear who it belonged too.

But he didn’t care either way.

A hard throb in his arm caused his entire body to shake and as he closed his hands into fists he hissed slightly when a stinging feeling protruded in his right palm. Slowly, he opened the clenched fist and smiled softly at the sight that met him. How he had forgotten it was there didn’t matter, but that it was indeed there did. A strange, warming feeling filled his chest as he picked the metal between his fingertips, playing with it for a bit before grabbing a good hold of it between his thumb and index finger. Pondering for a while, then deciding as a series of knocks we’re heard through his silent bubble. The voice was still there, and he could almost say that the voice sounded panicked and afraid. He didn’t care. All that mattered now he had in his own hands. In his left his life was dripping away, in his right was the shortcut.

He’d made up his mind. It was okay. Tonight was good. It was no special date, no ones birthday. No ones anniversary.

He hesitated. Something felt wrong about that one. But as another throb soared through his arm he shook the feeling away and pressed sharp metal against the skin above that which was already damaged. He pressed down hard, harder than he’d ever dare to otherwise. But he had made up his mind.

He’d only pulled away, watching the white line quickly fill with red and dripping over the edges of where his skin was dragged open, as the door beside him gave in to heavy banging and feet kicking harshly at the handle and burst open.

He let his head twist towards where a form had stepped inside and turned around to kneel before him. The metal between his fingers was taken from him and he whined at the loss. Desperately trying to go after it, without moving, his eyes began to tear up again. He was furious. Furious at how he hadn’t had time to do a few more. Furious at how the person who was now grabbing his right arm and left shoulder to prevent him from moving, had stopped him from completing what he had decided on. He opened his chapped lips and cried out, wailed loud enough for his head to spin again.

A warm, wet piece of cloth dabbed against the fresh wounds painted on the canvas that was his arm, the marks going from left to right, up and down, having been made with a sharp metal blade as a useful brush. The voice was still next to him, talking non-stop with what was probably soothing and comforting sentences, but he heard none of the words falling from the lips he had in his line of sight.

His head spun again, the surroundings becoming extremely clear, enough for him to notice a head covered in short dark hair, a jaw that hadn’t been shaved in a few days, plump lips still moving with prayers and what not - and those brown eyes he knew so well. But then his view got blurry again. His eyelids fell, even if he struggled to keep them open.

He would do anything - anything, he told himself - to see those eyes look into his as his life poured out of him. But alas, his strength was lost and he could do nothing but succumb to the darkness that was starting to surround him. As the dark took his eyes, he parted his lips wider and forced them into forming shapes that fitted what his throat and tongue and mind wanted to say before going into the awaited slumber.

“I’m sorry."

**Author's Note:**

> So I am planning to plot out a chaptered thing here, but I don't know.  
> So, let me know what you think, if I should continue and so on :) x  
> EDIT: I won't continue this, but am thinking of making a chaptered fic with a similar theme and an actual plot, hope ya'll don't mind xx


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